


Sympathy For An Angel

by FearTheSpork



Series: Wings and Things [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, The Devil is clumsy, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearTheSpork/pseuds/FearTheSpork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Season Finale, Chloe wakes in the middle of the night to a very clumsy home invasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy For An Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily influenced by Lilo and Stitch. No, I'm not kidding. Totes serious kids.
> 
> Sorry for my absence. My real life says I'm not allowed to have fun until I finish other stuff and I have to listen to it. Anyway, this is just something short until I get my other one-shots finished. Sorry about the lack of smut as well but the next one will be smut heavy and I wanted to take a break from sexy times.

She was awoken by the sound of creaking coming from her living room.

For a brief moment she was panicked, still half asleep and unaware of where she was. It wasn't exactly uncommon for her to wake up dazed these days. Her dreams of late were surreal, odd. More so in the past seventy-two hours though.

They were of Malcolm- that giant sack of assholes- with his gun pointed towards Lucifer. Dreams of watching herself watching them and then the harsh sound of a gunshot reverberating off of the hanger walls.

It sounded so real in her head that it had woken her twice that same night.

Then him, Lucifer- so solid, so real and strong and... _untouchable_. Fuck, he was supposed to be invincible. For a moment after the gunshot, in that eerie haunting silence, she'd thought he was okay. She'd begged him silently to be okay. Let him be the Devil, she didn't care. Let all his talk of stupid immortality be true.

Please, please, please.

But then he'd wavered, crumpling to the ground with a thump that sounded worse to her than a thousand gun's firing.

Her scream had died in her throat because if she made a sound, then she'd give away her position. She'd practically gone onto autopilot. Police training kicked in. Stay low. Stay quiet. Find a weapon.

Whatever you do, don't- _don't_ \- look at your partner's body, twitching and rapidly bleeding out just across the room.

Don't run to him. Don't fling yourself at his attacker, his killer and make him pay.

Don't.

Don't.

_Don't be dead, Lucifer. Please._

Malcolm was hovering over him now, taunting him and her blood had boiled in her veins because that bastard's face should not have been the last thing Lucifer should see. He should see her trying to save his life. Telling him to hang on, even when half of his blood was smeared across the dirty floor.

He should go with her telling him that she was proud of him for how far he'd come. That his Father would be proud of him for coming to the rescue. He shouldn't die without her hand in his.

But fate wasn't that kind. Malcolm stepped away from the body, breaking her out of her grief.

She'd balked at the thought of calling Lucifer a body. That was a clinical term, reserved for people she didn't know. People she didn't have a relationship with. People she didn't- She heaved a breath. Then forced herself to compartmentalize her feelings so she could deal with it when she and her child were out of immediate danger.

Malcolm had stalked her through the metal shelves and wooden crates like a monster from the stories she would read Trix before bed. The kind they would usually laugh at. But that moment was far from funny.

_I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll ruin your life, Decker._

She'd manoeuvred herself around crates and boxes, between shelves and machinery. All the while trying to figure out where the hell Malcolm was. He was so quiet and it was chilling. Being hunted was new to her. She was usually the one who did the hunting and now that the roles were reversed, she'd wished so hard for Lucifer to be okay that she'd had to violently wipe away tears.

Her shoulder was against wood, a flimsy crate that wouldn't stop a bullet if Malcolm let one fly. But her guns were so close. This game of hide and seek had gone on long enough and it was now or never. Just as long as she didn't look at Lucifer, she could force herself to keep a clear head.

_Don't look, don't look._

She'd made a run for it, faster than she'd ever moved in her life and from the corner of her eye, she'd seen the glint of a gun being raised. She was a dead woman. Her daughter was going to grow up without a mother, a father in prison and the memory of discovering the bodies of two of the most loved people in her young life.

She braced for impact. And then-

" _Hello Malcie._ "

Her heart, frozen from the instant Lucifer had hit the floor, had jumped back to life at the sound of his voice. So warm, so alive. Utterly victorious as he sucker punched Malcolm right into a hard surface like he'd clearly wanted to for so long.

She didn't even give herself a moment to ask the all encompassing question of how he'd survived. There would be plenty of over thinking later. She didn't care. There was no time to waste and with no remorse or sorrow in her at all, she fired the half empty clip from her gun into Malcolm's chest.

Afterwards, in the welcoming silence of the night time, came the inevitable conversation.

The LAPD were swarming the building now, cementing the fact that they were safe. Trixie had finally burst into tears, mainly at the sight of the blood on Lucifer's shirt and had cried herself out on her mother's shoulder, even after insistence that he was really okay. A little death never hurt anybody, he'd said glibly.

He stood next to her, looking bereft at the loss of such a lovely suit to blood stains- " _It's not like blood comes out of Armani, Detective_."

It was in that quiet moment that she'd finally confronted what she'd been steadfastly denying for months now.

Her partner was the Devil.

The Devil.

It was a lot to take in but she'd swallowed her questions and let him drive her home, seeing as her hands were still shaking.

Her Lucifer was _the_ Lucifer. Fallen angel. Giant five year old. A lot more handsome than the pictures her subsequent internet searches had yielded and a lot more sarcastic to boot. Her friend and her sudden self-appointed protector. It was mind boggling but there was no way to deny it any more. She could over look the strength, pass it off as the result of some kind of insane work out regime.

And she'd seen plenty of hypnotists in her day. Granted none anywhere near as good as him.

But coming back from the dead? Yeah, not even Houdini could pull that kind of shit.

So with the massive shadow of having the Devil as her best friend, her ex-husband in prison for being a dirty cop and her daughter half traumatized from being kidnapped all in one day, she'd done the only thing she could think of when Lucifer had pulled up to her house.

She'd asked for some space.

To Lucifer's credit, he'd submitted to her will quite easily. According to him, he had some very urgent business to attend to at Lux and he'd agreed to give her time to come to terms with everything.

Time to relax.

Which she was currently _not_ doing because there was someone in her living room, knocking things around and being possibly the worst burglar in the history of the shady profession. Snatching her gun from the night stand, she crouched down low and crept along the floor until she could peer around the doorway.

Another crash, much louder this time and she knew she'd have to confront the intruder before they made their getaway. God, could she not catch a break in this fucking city? She evened out her breathing, flicked the safety off of her gun and whirled around the corner.

She was met with a sight that made her shout of ' _freeze_ ' die in her throat.

At first, there was just a lot of white and for a moment, she had literally no idea what she was looking at. Other than the fact that whatever it was, was making her squint in what should have been a dark room.

"What the hell?" she demanded loudly and the mass of feathers and blinding whiteness moved, until she recognized a darker shape in the middle.

Currently attempting to replace a vase on a shelf and taking up most of her living room while he was doing it, was Lucifer.

With the most gorgeous wings she'd ever seen grace creation sprouting from his back. Her jaw dropped in awe as she took in the sight of him. Her mastery of the English language was good. It always had been. But now, she struggled to find words worthy enough to describe him.

Majestic? Beautiful? God-like? She doubted he would appreciate that one.

Angelic.

Angelic was good. Her breath was slowly coming back from where it had been sucked out of her lungs but still she couldn't force herself to move. Couldn't look away from him.

Then-

He'd been silent and unmoving as she drank in the sight of him but he was soon uncomfortable under her searching gaze. He moved to step forward and promptly knocked another of her mother's many trinkets to the floor.

"Bollocks," he swore, diving forward to catch it and missing. It skidded across the wooden floor, stopping right in front of her foot. Instead of a graceful save, Lucifer instead now had his feathers tangled in her cheap light fixture.

She was speechless. Now that the shock was wearing off, she had so many questions. So many observations. Like how this man, this assured creature of grace, was so amusingly clumsy.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Fuck," he grunted, desperately trying to untangle himself from the wires and strings that held up fake plastic beads, all the while attempting not to break it. Sensing her watching him, he sent her an apologetic, somewhat reassuring smile before looking angrily at his fingers again as he tried to disengage the feathers where they'd become snagged.

As he moved, trying to extend his reach, his other wing sent a lamp flying and the noise finally snapped her out of her awe inspired silence. She had to do something before he inadvertently destroyed her entire living room.

"Hold on. Stop moving," she held up her hands, trying her best not to laugh when he looked sheepish. "I'll help," she bit her lip, moving to approach him almost warily. She didn't want to touch him without his consent. Didn't want to touch an archangel's wings with her silly little mortal hands.

Hands that couldn't possibly fathom the divinity in front of them.

He clearly sensed her trepidation. "I trust you love. Just, be gentle, hmm?" he shot her what he probably thought was a cocky smile. Chloe thought he look terrified.

Setting her gun down, she approached him, nibbling on her bottom lip. The closer she got, the bigger and more imposing those brilliant white wings seemed to become. The wing that wasn't currently tangled, arched out from his shoulder blade to scrape against the low ceiling and then curved downwards to brush the floor.

He noticed her staring and brought the wing in to fold against his back. Her eyes drifted to his. "Apologies Detective. I know they can be imposing. I didn't think about bringing them to such an enclosed space with all of these... breakable things," he glanced around, clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away from hers.

Was he- embarrassed?

"Hey," she nudged him. "I was actually thinking about how gorgeous they are. A lamp is replaceable Lucifer. These aren't."

"Thank you darling," he answered softly. "But I still must apologize for breaking everything. I'll replace it all of course. I must admit I'm not exactly used to carrying them around and I've seemingly forgotten to keep them tucked in when I land."

She nodded in some attempt to understand how that must feel. She supposed it would be akin to someone who'd lost a limb, suddenly regrowing it. It would be odd, unused and new. "I suppose turning up at your house in the middle of the night and trashing it, isn't giving you the space you asked for, is it?" he asked softly.

As she pulled a stool over to where he stood, she mused over his appearance. Not three days ago, she'd been utterly terrified that he'd been dead. Scared that she would never see him again. So she shook her head.

"Actually, I think having you around breaking things, is much more welcome than you not being around at all."

"I certainly think so."

Chloe laughed for the first time in days. Only he could drag a smile out of her when she was trying to be honest. "Care to tell me why you've invaded me at two in the morning?" she asked, teasingly.

He managed a smile. "I was in the neighbourhood."

Well, that was an avoidance if she'd ever heard one. And she'd heard plenty over the years. It was okay if he didn't want to tell her. But she could see it on his face. He'd been lonely tonight. But she didn't push the answer out of him.

"O-kay. Well what about your wings? I thought you'd burned them?"

He snorted softly, looking almost reluctant to share. But he relented in the end. After all, he'd come to her house, not the other way around. He could at least be honest with her. "They'll be needed in the coming months apparently. I had a little chat with Dad," he motioned to the ceiling and Chloe started, eyes wide.

" _God!?_ "

The look he gave her said it all. "Yes Chloe, The G-man," he smirked. "Daddy dearest thinks I should be in tact while I'm on the mortal plane of existence. Dear knows why. I've been doing perfectly well on my own for the past five years."

He sounded almost huffy at being reprimanded by his Father and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Then she remembered who she was rolling them at. An _Angel of the Lord_. The same Angel of the Lord she'd made a drunken pass at. Had slapped in the face. Had shot. 

Fuck. Note to self. Stop pissing off all powerful beings.

This was madness but she decided to ignore what she could and go back to the conversation. "Oh yeah, getting shot and dying was a great use of your time," she grumbled snarkily.

"Interesting way to spend a night, I suppose."

Of course he'd be nonchalant about dying in front of her. She gave him a dirty look and he shrugged, smiling easily and sending her anger slinking off again. Damn him. He was so disarming when he did that. His inability to take anything seriously usually drove her mad. But tonight she couldn't help but notice that he seemed to need it.

He didn't need her to be angry with him. He'd come to her because he wanted company. An ear to bend. Even if he wouldn't admit it.

He held a hand out to her, helping her clamber onto the almost forgotten stool.

Then with trembling fingers, Chloe Decker touched her first angel feather. The breath they'd both been holding was released the second her fingers skimmed the length of a white edge. It was so soft. Softer than anything she'd ever felt before. Softer than air, softer than silk.

Almost as soft as the look she caught him giving her as she stroked him absent-mindedly.

This couldn't be the Devil, she decided. He wasn't the monster than humans made him out to be. What right did humanity have to vilify such a divine being? Yes, he had his faults. He was proud and stubborn and always, always convinced that he was right. He was cocky and easily angered and violent.

Flawed.

But he was everything else as well. He was gentle with her, with her child. He was charming and funny. Charismatic and undeniably sexy. He was patient and so soft with her. He cooked for her, refused to take advantage of her when she'd turned up drunk and angry on his doorstep. He was a good person.

According to the Bible, the Devil wasn't like that. The Devil didn't save lives. He wouldn't have come to her rescue. Wouldn't have cared if she lived or died. The Devil was a fairytale, a horror story.

Lucifer wasn't the Devil. He was just an angel who'd had the raw end of the deal and damn it- she suddenly found herself angry. Angry with God for not seeing what Lucifer could be. For casting him aside to be hated, despised and be the scapegoat of humanity.

For a moment she was fearless in her silent retribution.

In her head she hoped that somewhere up there, God was listening so she could give him a piece of her mind. Lucifer deserved so much more than a Father who could do what he'd done. If He refused to fight in Lucifer's corner, then she would damn well do it herself.

Oblivious to her inner monologue railing against his Father, the look on her face must have confused him, because his head cocked to one side and his brow furrowed.

"Thinking about something love?" he kept his voice low, not wanting to break the peace of the moment.

She didn't answer straight away. Untangling his feathers took less than a moment and she did little to resist the urge to run her fingers through them, marvelling in the way the feathers caught the light from the moon and made it dance. When he was free at last, he folded it back carefully, so it could rest alongside it's twin.

"You know, I've seen evil, Lucifer," she said, her voice just as soft as his and her hand leaving the arch to touch his shoulder.

"Oh?" he asked, big hands on her waist as he lifted her down from the stool and set her firmly back onto planet earth. She missed the warmth of his body immediately.

"Yeah, I have. Maybe not as much as you've seen, but enough to know it. I've seen it in rapists, murderers. In paedophiles and in people who just don't care about others. I watched it sneak around the Department for the last few weeks and hold my daughter hostage. I watched it shoot you and gloat as you died-" those words still managed to stick in her throat. But she shrugged off the feeling of wrenching sadness at the thought of losing him. "So I think everyone has it wrong."

He brushed her hair out of her eyes, hanging on her every word. Like these are the words he'd been burning for, longing for. All he wanted was for one person to see it. To see him, for what he really was. His emotions were jumbled, fear fighting with longing.

This was the woman he'd given his life to protect. His one selfless act was for her and he knew that he would do it again. He would make that deal with his Father all over again if it meant she'd have one more day to live, to breathe the air and be with her daughter.

He wanted her to understand him.

"You said that my opinion is the only one that matters. So here it is. You aren't evil Lucifer. You're _lost_."

He swallowed hard.

"Lost?" he tested the word on his tongue. He'd never considered himself to be lost before. Is that what he was? Constantly aloof, pushing away anyone who got close enough. Cutting himself off from his brothers, his Father. Something akin to grief blossomed in his chest. He hadn't felt that in millennia.

"I'm lost," his breathing became heavy and when his head dropped onto her shoulder, she took the opportunity to gently stroke his hair.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, Lucifer letting himself be held by this little mortal who had him entirely stumped. He made no move to escape her gentle touch, instead relaxing against her body.

It was Chloe who broke the silence, with an offer she wasn't sure he'd take. One she wasn't even sure she had the authority to make.

But the feeling of him in her arms banished her woes. He'd had her back when it most counted. He'd died for her. For her daughter.

Fuck authority. Fuck the way the world worked.

"Look, I know we can't give you much Lucifer. We're not what you're used to. Trix and I are hardly angels and this house is hardly Heaven," she snorted softly but then those big brown eyes were gazing into hers and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. "We're small, and we're mortal and we're broken," she felt his breath catch in his throat- felt something break inside him as his arms curled around her middle. "But you can be part of our family, if you want to. You don't have to be lost any more Lucifer."

Lucifer felt his knees buckle and then there he was, God's favourite son, the mighty Morning Star, on his knees in front of a human. Sobbing brokenly against her stomach because fuck, fuck- he was _home_ at long last.

The warmth she felt when his wings engulfed her was wondrous, almost distracting her from what she was supposed to be focused on. But she forced her attention back to the angel hugging her midsection like he would never, ever let go.

She'd made the right choice.

They were each others problems now, it seemed. She smiled, still stroking his hair.

She could live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> More on it's way folks!


End file.
